


I Will

by momolady



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Slow Burn, sansan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-17
Updated: 2014-11-21
Packaged: 2018-02-25 19:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2633315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momolady/pseuds/momolady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU in which Sandor Clegane is Ned Stark's ward and he gratefully serves the Stark family. Sandor feel particularly attached to little Sansa and often goes out of his way to make her smile. The two promise to always be there for each other. But the beauty of youth is fleeting and soon the two are torn apart by the strife befalling Westeros</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Promise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Littlefeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Littlefeather/gifts).



A high pitched, inhuman noise rang out through the yard. The cry seemed to make everyone freeze in place, a feat the cold had yet been able to accomplish. The men turned, Catelyn ran out into the yard in a motherly panic. In the sudden shock Rickon began crying at Old Nan’s feet. And just as suddenly as it all happened all the men were laughing. Robb and Jon following behind Catelyn as she stood before the source of the noise with an exasperated look upon her face.

Arya looked up at her with a look of confusion, and below her on the ground Sansa was whimpering and squalling. Big fat tears rolling down her rosy cheeks and from between her fingers.

 

“Arya,” Catelyn simply said, shaking her head as she let out an exasperated, but relieved, sigh.

“What?” Arya huffed, her mouth a gaping maw of missing teeth, gaps, and red gums. “She just started screaming!” She waved her makeshift sword in the air. A jagged stick she had whittled into a needle like point and then decorated with rags and vines and few dried heartswood leaves.

“She pushed me!” Sansa sniffled, wiping at her nose as daintily as she could. “She kept shaking that stupid stick in my face and she pushed me!”

Arya scoffed. “No I didn’t!” She screeched.

“Arya, Sansa, hush!” Catelyn snapped. One hand lashed out and grabbed Arya’s shoulder, the other yanking Sansa to her feet.

Sansa wiped her cheeks with the sleeves of her dress, dragging mud clods across them. She squeaked, seeing her hands and knees and legs covered in wet, cold mud. The front of her pale dress ripped, the reason for her first scream.

“Its alright Sansa dear,” Catelyn plucked her up from the ground and wiped her cheeks off. “Don’t cry it is only a little dirt.”

“What happened?” Robb asked.

“Sansa fell.” Arya’s lip curled up.

Robb and Jon exchanged looks and laughed. “Oh she fell did she?” Robb asked as he knelt down, seeing a tuft of Sansa’s dress on the tip of Arya’s stick.

Arya pouted at him, yanking her toy away and threatening to run. As she turned, she slammed into a pair of tree-trunk legs and toppled over, rolling into Robb’s arms.She gathered herself, pushing Robb away in a huff and looking up. “Watch where you are going, Dog!” She snapped, jumping up and making a mad dash through the yard.

“Robb, Jon someone go fetch her please.” Catelyn huffed as she tried to stop Sansa from crying anymore. “I only have so many hands!”

“I’ll go.” Jon replied, bowing his head gently before running off, following Arya’s tracks in the mud.

Catelyn looked up. “Clegane, forgive my children.” She pet Sansa’s hair. “I am sorry if they have disrupted the training.”

“I did not realize little girls could make such noises.” He looked down at Sansa, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to not cry in front of him. He looked to Catelyn, his slate eyes betraying his overly serious face. “I saw the little bitch chase her out into the yard. And when this one tried to defend herself, the other got a bit too rough.”

“I see,” Catelyn looked down at Sansa. “We will fix your dress. Can you go to your room and change out of this mucky thing?” She asked. 

“Yes mother,” Sansa mewled pitifully. Her fat bottom lip jutting out like a slice of red apple.

“Do not pout so.” Catelyn scolded gently. “Ladies do not pout. Chin up.” She teased as she tickled under Sansa’s chin in an attempt to make her smile. She then set the girl down on her feet and pet her hair as she walked off.

Sansa nodded and trotted off, wobbling as she went. The mud and wet making her dress a great deal heavier for her small frame. She walked passed Old Nan and her baby brothers. Bran’s eyes were wide as Sansa went by and he tried to say her name, but was drowned out by Rickon’s non-stop squalling.

When she felt she was alone she began to weep again. Big fat tears like before, rolling freely down her plump cheeks. She cursed Arya in her mind, whimpering and sniffling all along as she walked slowly to her room. 

“Is it really all that bad, little bird?” Before Sansa could even looked up he had her scooped up in his strong, warm arms.

She whimpered and sniffled, wriggling. “But me down,” she commanded weakly. “I don’t want you carrying me anymore.”

Sandor scoffed. “You used to love being carried.”

She pushed her tiny hands against his neck. “I’m a lady, I don’t need to be carried!”

Sandor just laughed, carting the little wriggling bundle into the kitchen where he set her before the warm hearth. She sat there pouting, more embarrassed he had seen her cry and ignored her than upset now. She looked over her shoulder, watching him as he opened a covered tray. She liked the way the metal seemed to sing when it was raised. She turned back around, still pouting with him as he walked back to her side. He sat beside her and then held his hand to her, something sitting in his big palm.

She tried to ignore him, but a smell wafted up to her nose. She sniffed and looked down, seeing the lemon cake. Her eyes widened and she gingerly took it into her hands. She ate silently, pecking at it slowly and ladylike, like she was told to do.

“You eat a like a bird.” Sandor pet her hair. “But I see the little wolf in your eyes.”

She looked up at him. “Mother says it isn’t polite.” She murmured, crumbs falling off her cheek. “She fusses at Arya all the time for eating sloppily.”

“In front of polite company,” Sanor corrected, clicking his tongue. “But what am I?” His thick fingers gently brushed the crumbs from the corner of her lips. 

“You’re Ser Clegane of-”

“No,” He gave her a harsh angry look and she squeaked. “I am no Ser, little one, so forget all that noise.” He shook his finger at her. “What am I?” He asked again.

She swallowed, curling her fist under her chin. “You’re a dog.” She said softly, repeating the words he had said many times to her. “You...you are the Hound.” She began kicking her feet in the air. 

“And does it matter how you eat in front of dogs?”

Sansa shook her head, great blue eyes peering up at him through her long lashes. “No.”

He motioned his hand to the lemon cake. “Then eat.”

She looked at him cautiously, turning and biting a chunk off the cake. She looked back to him for some sort of response then went back, taking an even bigger biting. Icing and crumbs attaching to her now puffed out cheeks. It was so unlady like, but at the same time it was nice, it was fun. She giggled, kicking her feet in a the air a bit.

Sandor patted her back. “Thats it, little bird.” He picked mud from her hair, dusting off the drying filth from her back and arms. “No need to cry so when there are kings dying.”

Sansa wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. She remained silent, the idea of a king dying making her think of her father and it made her worry. Sandor’s hand rested on the top of her head then pet down.

“Do not worry, little bird,” he murmured low. “As long as I am here, I will see that many a man falls before your father ever does.”

She looked up at him with big watery eyes. “You promise?”

He smiled upon her, gnarled side of his mouth twitching. “I promise.”

Sansa held up her hand, all her fingers closed in save for her pinky. “You really promise?”

He mimicked her little hand gesture, linking his thick pinky with her own and then shaking them up and down. “I really promise.”

She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Hound.”

Sandor stood and adjusted his belt. “You go on and change now. Do as your lady mother commands.”

Sansa slipped off the bench and bowed to him. “Thank you.” She repeated, she looked up at him for a moment. He was taller than her father, much taller. His hair dark and hanging before the ruined side of his face. She had always been curious about him, ever since he came to Winterfell with his face wrapped tight in bandages. Her father had told her that even when he was still healing, still so very young, he was still one of the strongest of his warriors.

There were a lot of stories about the Hound that Sansa had heard. But they never seemed to match the man who stopped her tears and snuck her lemon cakes. She reached out, taking the Hound’s big hand and squeezing it tight with both her tiny hands. She said nothing, but she saw a change in his eyes as he looked down at her. She gave a final squeeze then turned and skittered off, her rapid footsteps echoing down the halls.

 

Sansa woke suddenly from a dream. Her heart racing, her skin cold and clammy. She was freezing despite her furs and the fire. Arya twitched in her sleep beside her, drooling on her pillow. Sansa sniffled quietly and wiped at her eyes. She slipped off the bed to the floor. She shivered as she went to the fire, tossing a few small sticks and logs onto the blaze. 

Something didn’t feel right. The air felt strange and tainted. She had gone to sleep, her mother's soft kiss on her cheek, and a wonderfully full belly. It had been a wonderful evening. The horror of the afternoon gone, supper wonderful, and story time by the fire had made her all but forget her torn dress. This sudden sense of dread seemed unwarranted. What could of happened so suddenly? 

She stood and walked to her window and opened up the shutters to a bright, vicious light. She gasped loudly and stood away, her little fists balled up under her chin as she stared in awe as smoke and fire filled the sky. 

“Arya,” Sansa whimpered. “Arya?”

Her little sister didn’t move. She continued snoring, twitching, and drooling like a puppy.

Sansa paced back and forth before her window fretting. The fire was no place for a little girl, but what of her father and her brothers? Where was her mother? Where were the babies? She closed her shutters and turned to run for the door.

Surely she could help some how?

The door opened before she reached it and she held her arms out wide expecting her mother to come in with Bran and Rickon, safe and sound and with good news. Instead she ran into thick legs and whimpering noises.

“Hound?” Sansa asked frightened. 

He fell to the floor before her, holding his hands over his face. “There’s so much fire…” He was crying. Big fat tears running down his cheeks and fingers. He grunted more than whimpered, but he was crying!

Sansa’s eyes widened, he was whimpering and sobbing like Rickon, she’d never seen the Hound in such a state before. His body shook, coursing with fear. 

He is so afraid, Sansa thought. It had never once occurred to her he could be afraid.

“So much fire,” the Hound repeated again.

Sansa reached out and pet his cheek. “Its alright,” she said softly, her fingers becoming wet with his tears. “It isn’t bad to be afraid.”

He reached out and pulled Sansa close, hugging onto her like the doll she looked like. She put her arms around his neck and squeezed him as tightly as she could.

“Its all going to be fine.” She reassured him. She pet his hair and patted his cheek, mimicking things her mother did that made her feel better.

He was quiet for a long time, his breathing ragged, his breath scented of wine. She wondered how long the fire had been blazing, how long he had been drinking and running away. She squeezed his neck in a warm hug, wishing there was more she was capable of.

Sansa started singing softly. Her little voice cracking at first but slowly turning into a soft and soothing tone. She sang to him, hoping to keep him from crying anymore. He was like a wounded animal, like the ones Arya often found and brought home.

She cooed softly into his burnt ear, tiny hands trying their best to pet his large back. He seemed to quiet and still in her arms, her song hopefully working. Or perhaps, had he fallen asleep? Sansa thought wondrously.

The Hound pulled back from Sansa and stood slowly, her hair dragging through his fingers. She looked up at him, catching his hand and squeezing tight. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, little bird.” His croaked. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sansa smiled up at him. “Everyone is scared of something. Its alright.”

He knelt down, kissing the top of her head before he turned and left. “Stay here until your mother fetches you.” He growled over his shoulder at her, shutting the door.

Sansa wiped at her cheeks as he left, worried for him.  
“What’s all that noise?” Arya grumbled from the bed.

 

The old gods blessed them with rain, dousing out the fire and keeping it from spreading. It turned gentle and hopeful into a torrential downpour with the ice of winter and the winds to match the howling direwolf. 

Arya and Sansa sat in there bed with Rickon and Bran, the four cuddled together as they listened to the rain and the men shouting. Bran was sitting in Sansa’s lap tangling his fingers in her hair. Sansa appreciated his calm and gentleness. They had somehow managed to put Rickon to sleep, and Arya was remaining blessedly quiet to keep him that way.

In the morning Sansa stood and went to the window. Smoke and fog mingled in a dark hovering cloud, blurring everything before them. She swallowed in the cold and smoke, her heart pounding hard. How much damage had been done? Was anyone hurt? Was Sandor ok? Did he run away? Tears began welling up in her eyes as she wondered this final thought. Her hand quivered on the curtain as she pictured her hound running away on his great black steed, running away from his fear, leaving her behind.

The door opened and Catelyn came in quietly. “Sansa close the curtains.” She cooed as she took Rickon into her arms. “Everything is alright.” She assured them gently. “No one was harmed.”

But did anyone leave? The question turned turned bitter and burned on Sansa’s tongue.

“Sansa, come with me sweetling” Catelyn waved her hand to her. “Come help me serve breakfast to the men.”

“Yes mother.” Sansa drew the curtain back and she slipped into her dress and shoes. She walked along behind her mother, the scent of smoke and ash filling the halls. Men were shuffling in from the rain and mud, Robb and Jon leading them, greeting them and thanking them warmly. She then saw her father and she ran to him. He was damp and tired, sitting at the table and drinking from a steaming cup.

“Did I wake you?” He teased as he took her into his arms. He was cold and took comfort in the warm and soft Sansa. He sat her on his knee,allowing her a few stolen sips from his cup.

“It was very rude of you, Father.” Sansa said with a curt nod. She smiled up at him though, tittering behind her hand as he kissed her plump cheek.

“Were you afraid?” Ned pet her hair absentmindedly, a habit he had picked up when she was but a newborn.

Sansa thought about Sandor and his fear that brought him shaking and sobbing to her room. “I wasn’t.” She looked up at him. “I was brave, Father.”

Ned beamed down at her. “That’s good.” He said.

Sansa’s eyes looked around the hall, looking for Sandor whenever her father wasn’t looking at her. She began to feel dread pool in her belly, quickening into a broken heart. He promised, she thought. He promised me. She hung her head.

“Sansa,” Catelyn handed her a tray. “Go serve your brothers. They are in the hallway with Sandor.”

Her eyes widened and she felt herself lighten. “Yes, Mother.” She held back her excitement and joy. He was still here! He didn’t leave me!

She walked as quickly to the hallway as she could without spilling the hot drinks. Jon and Robb were hanging their wet clothes and laughing. Sandor was just walking in, dripping wet and his cloak crusted in ice. His face was smeared with ash and soot.

“I have your hot drinks.” Sansa said softly, her cheeks turning bright pink when she saw Sandor.

Robb took the tray and nodded. “Thanks.” He handed the tray to Jon and then up to Sandor. Sandor took it and Jon and Robb left to join the rest of the men. 

Sansa remained, standing before Sandor and looking up at him through her long lashes. “Thank you, Ser Clegane.” She mewled sweetly.

He cast aside his cloak and he took his hot drink, sitting in the hallway. “What did I say about calling me Ser, little bird?”

She slowly scooted closer to him. “Shall I remove your boots?” She asked, cheeks darkening to deep red. She had seen her mother do such a thing to her father, and she had always thought it very romantic.

Sandor scoffed, looking down at her he felt better than drinking hot sludge. “No,” he reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’ve helped enough for today. And my boots are muddy. No need dirtying up another dress.”

Her small smile wavered for a moment. "I don't doubt you could take them off, but they might put up a fight." He pet her hair, taking comfort in the soft, long locks.  
"Do not fret about me. Dogs are meant to be filthy beasts." 

"Were you hurt?" She twisted her fingers into knots. 

He shook his head slowly, his dark eyes smiling at her. "No." He patted the seat beside him, insisting for her to sit. "Join me, but only if you aren't needed elsewhere."

She beamed happily. "I am not." Sansa crawled up onto the bench beside him. She folded her hands into her lap and looked up at him, the burned side of his face exposed to her. She never knew the story of how he received his burns, he would never say. But everyone seemed to have their own rumor that she tried not to listen to. But whatever had happened to him had hurt him more than she could ever understand. It scarred his face and scarred his heart to a point of no repair. But as she sat there looking up at him, she took her pinky and locked it with his. She made a silent promise that she would take care of Sandor, and love him and keep him from being afraid.


	2. Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He pulled up his sleeve, showing her the large welt on his elbow. “Received this just this morning.”  
> Sansa gasped. “That looks painful!”  
> “I’m used to such things.” Sandor replied. “It’s just-” He stopped as Sansa kissed the tip of her finger then gently touched it to his elbow.  
> “To make it better.”

Her hair had been braided into a crown around the top of her head, little white and pink flowers tucked into the creases. She grew like a weed, much faster than Robb and Jon had. In fact, she was nearly Jon’s height. Despite the compliments, Sansa hated it. She felt unseemly and gangly. And her joints and limbs ached horribly at night as she laid down to sleep.

“I want to grow up and be a lady.” She said with bleary eyes to her mother. “But I did not think it would hurt so.”

Catelyn dabbed Sansa’s eyes with a handkerchief. “Growing up is never half as beautiful as they make it sound in those songs and stories you love so.” She sighed as she tucked a loose curl behind Sansa’s ear. “I had a growth spurt just like this as a girl as well.” She smiled softly as she began spinning yarn around Sansa’s out stretched hands. “All of a sudden, almost over night I grew five inches!”

“Five inches?” Sansa murmured in awe.

Catelyn nodded. “Poor Petyr, I towered over him!” She giggled. “Nothing I had fit anymore! I had to wear rags for almost a whole week until the seamstress could whip me up a proper dress.”

Sansa smiled, her nerves calmed for now. If the same thing had happened to her mother then perhaps she had hope. After all, her mother was beautiful and graceful and well loved. She then winced, her knees aching a bit.

Catelyn took the yarn from her. “You need to walk.” She said. “Go outside for a bit, stretch your legs and you’ll feel better for it.”

Sansa nodded, rising from her seat. “Yes, Mother.” She bowed her head gently as she left. It did feel better to move, but it was more than that. As she had gotten up that morning, unused to her new center of gravity, she had swung her legs out and knocked her knee against the bedside table much to Arya’s squealing delight.

“The same will happen to you one day!” Sansa had barked at her as she blinked tears from her eyes.

Sansa had to stop and sit down, her knee aching terribly from the hit it had taken. Lifting up her skirts she inspected the large bruise on her knee. It hurt to the touch, even around the bruise hurt to be handled. Her heavy skirts didn’t help either. They had been rubbing against it all day and causing the brunt of her discomfort.

“Aww, whats this then?”

Sansa squeaked and dropped her skirts, hiding her bruise and legs. She looked up, seeing Sandor walking towards her. His hair was damp and he wasn’t wearing his armor. He had just finished training, her thought. One his way to change and get ready for his other duties.

He stood before her, kneeling at the waist a bit. “I hear Arya clucking at Jon this morning about how you had a little bump.”

Sansa looked up at him, her fists pinched against her skirts and bottom lip slightly pouted. “Its nothing.” She said, tipping her chin up.

“Acting tough?” Sandor arched his one thick brow. 

Her lashes fluttered as she averted her eyes back down onto her hands. “Not tough.” She murmured, fiddling with the appliques on her skirt. “Just….strong. Mother said women should be strong and show resolve.”

Sandor knelt down on one knee so he was eye to eye with his little bird. “True.” He said with a nod. “Strength in a woman is a beautiful feature.”

Her cheeks bloomed primrose as he said that. He’s calling me beautiful, he thought happily.

“Let me see your wound, brave one.” He said gently. 

“It isn’t proper.” Sansa answered curtly.

He smiled at her, laughing. He pinched her chin playfully. “Arya says it was nothing at all. Just a little tap. I want to make sure that pup is full of shit.”

Sansa slapped her hands over her mouth, trying to keep herself from squealing with giggles at the naughty word. This made Sandor beam brighter.

“It hurts a lot.” Sansa giggled. “And it wasn’t just a tap!” She said with a curt nod. “I’d like to see Arya take such a strike and not shed a tear of two.” She blushed more as she raised her hem, pulling it up over her knee to show the splotchy bruise that covered her entire knee.

Sandor tsked, shaking his head as he gently looped his hand around her calf. “No tap indeed!” He remarked. “Lots of colors. And is it tender?” He asked looking up at her.

Sansa nodded, her fists clenching her skirts tightly.

“Soak it in hot water and salts.” He said. “It’ll feel much better.” He smiled, pulling down her skirts and petting them smooth. “That’s always what I do.” He pulled up his sleeve, showing her the large welt on his elbow. “Received this just this morning.”

Sansa gasped. “That looks painful!”

“I’m used to such things.” Sandor replied. “It’s just-” He stopped as Sansa kissed the tip of her finger then gently touched it to his elbow.

“To make it better.”

Sandor chuckled. “Thank you,little bird.” He said, his hair falling in front of his face. “It feels better already.” He reached out and took her hand. “Do you need an escort to where you are heading?”

Sansa took his strong hand. “Thank you.” She cooed gently as she stood. “I was walking just a bit.” Her little fingers squeezed his. “I would love the company.”

“I smell a bit ripe at the moment.” He smirked.

“All dogs do.” Sansa teased. She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

He smirked down at her. “Cruel, little bird. Cruel.”

 

Robb’s name day came and Ned was taking him on a hunting trip. Sandor and Jon and some of the men went with them. They would be gone for a week or longer. Sansa was sad to see them go. She sent Robb away with the scarf she had knitted him and she kissed her father before he left. She was a little heartbroken she didn’t get to say goodbye to Sandor as well. 

But while the boys were gone Catelyn took the chance to throughly clean the boys’ rooms, clean their beds, flip the mattresses, air out the rooms and scrub them from top to bottom. She also ordered new mattresses for the men’s barracks, she had decided too Sandor deserved his own quarters and began having them prepared. The weather was warm and bright, the perfect time to get all this cleaning and freashening up done. 

An especially warm day allowed the girls some time to go roaming outside. Sansa took her favorite book with her, going to read under her favorite flowering tree while Arya looked for sticks to make swords and targets from. Catelyn hung blankets to air out, a maid striking them to remove dust. 

Sansa happily sat under the tree and read all her little fairy tales and songs. Winterfell had been quiet, almost a bit boring. She wondered when they would return home and what trophies they would bring along with them. Last time they had gone they had brought home a huge deer whose antlers were taller than her father.

Sansa looked up from her book and looked around. She saw Arya near the creek, cracking sticks and pretending to be fighting dragons. She looked over to her mother where she was hanging blankets and furs, Rickon in a bundle on her back. She looked around again, someone was missing. She set her book down and stood. 

“Bran?” She called out. She turned and twisted, looking up into the trees. “Bran?” She called out again. “Mother!”

Catelyn looked up and stared. “What is it?” She pushed the hair from her face.

“Where’s Bran?” Sansa asked,dread building in her belly.

Catelyn furrowed her brow,mouth opening and then closing when she realized she didn’t know. “B-Bran?” She called out. “Come out now.”

Sansa rushed towards Arya. “Is Bran near you?”

Arya looked up and her lips parted slowly. She looked around herself and she shook her head. “I’ll check along the river!” She called out and vanished into the brush.

Sansa bit her lip, her hands trembling under her chin. “Bran!” She cried out. She tried to think fast. Where had she seen Bran last? Oh he loved the climb, what if he had fallen and was hurt? Sansa turned and shouted to her mother, she was going to look along the path and see if she saw anything. She dashed into the woods,looking around. She didn’t see or hear anything.

“Bran?” She cried out, very near tears.

She was running along the path and tripped, falling into the dry leaves and dirt, hitting her already tender knee. She hiccuped, sniffling, blood dribbling down from her nose. She sat up and felt the warm wetness as it splashed against her lips. She tasted it, the metallic, warm flavor. 

“Bran?” She whimpered out, searching for her handkerchief. She tried to stand so she could head back, but she fell again. Her knee hurt too much to stand.

She hiccuped and blubbered, trying not to cry. She thought about her father and how strong and warm his arms felt and how much she missed him now. She then thought about Sandor and how he always seemed to be there to pick her up. A few tears trickled down her cheeks. It was getting dark, and she had no idea if they had found Bran or not.

She heard something in the distance, she heard some laughing and the sound of hooves on the earth. Before she knew it a pair of horses came barreling passed her, Robb and Jon on their backs. Racing home like morons, they hadn’t even seen her!

“Robb!” She cried bitterly. “Jon!” She hiccuped as they vanished over the horizon.

But soon she heard the rest of the hunting party coming up the way and she began making herself seen then. “Daddy!” She sobbed bitterly as the party came into view She tried to clean herself, afraid of looking like a fright. 

Ned leapt from his horse and scooped her up into his arms. “What in the seven hells happened?” He gasped as he stroked her hair. He looked over her face making sure she was alright.

“We-we were in the field-” Sansa blubbered. As she told him about looking for Bran and how she fell Sandor was standing behind Ned.His gray eyes watched Sansa, aching to comfort her and protect her. She clung to her father so tightly.

“Do you know if they found Bran?” Ned asked.

Sansa shook her head. “I fell and couldn’t get up. I’m so worried, Father.”

Ned handed Sansa over to Sandor and he mounted his horse again. “I’ll ride ahead. Get her home, Clegane.” He ordered and he rode off.

Sansa sniffled and whimpered, wrapping her arms around Sandor’s neck. He held her close, and pressed his cheek to her hair. “It’s ok, Little bird.” He mounted his horse and covered her in his cloak. 

“Some days are worse than most.” He coaxed her, riding back to Winterfell. He carried her back to her room, ordering a hot bath for her as they went.

He set her down in her room and smoothed back her hair. Her face was dirty with mud and blood and tears, eyes red and swollen, bottom lip quivering. “What hurts most?” He asked.

“My face is filthy.” She whimpered, covering it with her hands.

“You’ve hurt yourself, couldn’t walk,” he smiled. “And you’re worried about the mud on your cheeks.”

She hiccuped and trembled. “Don’t make fun of me.”

He dipped a cloth into some water and gently dabbed her face, cleaning up the mud and blood. “Forgive me.” His dark voice soft and comforting.

“I hope Bran is ok.” Sansa sniffled.

“I’m sure he is.” Sandor assured her as he made sure her nose wasn’t broken. “He’s a smart boy.”

Sansa looked into his eyes. “Thank you.” She mewled. “ always keep bothering you.”

Sandor cupped her cheek. “Impossible, little bird. You’re no bother to this old dog.”

Sansa smiled sweetly then. “I love you Hound.” She chirped sweetly.

He smiled at her, warmth feeling his heart. “Thank you.” He said. “But you should save that love for someone more deserving. I am but your hound. I live to serve.”

Sansa pouted. “I’m little but I am not stupid.” She pouted. “I know who does and doesn’t deserve love.” She said with a defiant sniff. “And I can choose whoever I want I give love to.” She reached up and pinched his nose. “I’ve always loved the hound. He’s my best friend.”

He chuckled, hugging Sansa briefly. “You’ll grow up and your heart will change. But for the time being, I accept your friendship.”

Sansa beamed, kissing his cheek. “Don’t be silly.” She then gasped and brought his fingers to her mouth. “Oh no!”

Sandor tilted his head, looking over her. “Whats wrong?” He asked.

“I left my favorite book by the tree.” She looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. “Its not supposed to rain tonight is it?

Sandor chuckled and pet the top of her head. “I’m sure it will be under the tree tomorrow.” He replied. “No clouds are even in the sky.”

She pouted briefly but it was soon forgotten when her mother rushed in and took Sandor’s place. She looked over Sansa and checked her knee and her nose. They had found Bran, he had been fine the entire time. He had climbed a tree and fallen asleep in a nest he had constructed for himself. Sansa looked over her mother’s shoulder and watched as Sandor slipped away as Bran came running in and crying to Sansa.

 

That night as Sansa laid in bed trying to sleep, despite the itchy bandage around her knee, she felt tapping at her shoulder.

“What is it Arya?” He murmured irritably.

“Are you ok?” She asked quietly, her voice hushed.

Sansa rolled over and met her sister’s eyes in the darkness. “I’m fine.” She answered just as quietly. 

“I’ve never had a broken nose before.” Arya mumbled. “What did it feel like?”

Sansa scoffed. “I don’t know. I didn’t really notice.”

“Why not?”

Samsa shrugged. “I was scared and...I was worried about Bran.” She answered. “I wasn’t really thinking about my nose.”

“Mom said it might bruise.” Arya touched her own nose and cheek. “Are you worried about bruising?” She then gigged. “Your face all blue and green and splotchy like a monster.”

Sansa reached out and tugged Arya’s greasy hair. “Shut up.” She hissed. 

They heard footsteps coming down the hallway and they both clammed up, waiting for them to dissipate down the hall. They inched closer, their knees knocking, Sansa winced and Arya jerked her legs away instantly.

“Sandor has a blotchy face and he isn’t a monster.” Sansa whispered back at Arya.

“Says you.” Arya laughed.

Sansa reached out and yanked Arya’s hair again, causing her little sister to yelp out loudly. Sansa slapped her hand over her mouth, hearing more foot steps. Arya wriggled and fought against her. She kicked, striking Sansa’s wounded knee. Sansa cried out and whimpered. 

“Why did you do that?” Sansa cried.

“Why did you pull my hair?” Arya shrieked back.

Sansa waved her hands. “Be quiet! We’ll get in trouble.”

Arya scowled down at her but plopped back down into bed and jammed her twiggy legs under the covers.

Sansa laid back down, her back turned to Arya. She closed her eyes, trying to sleep again. Arya tugged on her nightgown. 

“Someone is coming in.” Arya hissed.

Sansa rolled back over to face her and they inched close to one another, pretending to sleep. Arya would peek her eye open every so often in quick flashes to see who had come into their room.

The visitor came in and walked slowly across the floor, their boots thick and heavy. They stood beside the bed for a moment, setting something on the table and then leaving the same way they came. Sansa and Arya waited for the door to latch and they both sat up.

“Who was that?” Sansa asked as she looked to the door.

“It was the hound.” Arya whispered and she pointed to the table. “He set something over there.”

Sansa gasped and looked to the table by the bed. There she found her book of fairy tales, the cover was a little damp but it was fine. 

“Is it raining out?” She murmured.

Arya stood and went to the window, opening the shutters she looked out and nodded. “Yeah, it is.” She replied.

Sansa hugged the book to her chest. He had gone out into the rain to get her book for her.

“What’s with him?” Arya huffed as she closed the shutters back.


	3. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had never gotten to tell him goodbye. The whole thing happening so fast and suddenly, one moment he was nothing and the next a nobleman, a lord! It had been something so strange for the growing Sansa. It had broken her heart coming home without him at her side.

Her long fingers traced around the worn cover of her fairy tale book. There were water spots on the leather from when it had been caught in the rain so many years before. She sighed and looked to the window.She hadn’t been able to sleep well that night, for some reason she was far too nervous to. 

She rose from bed and wrapped herself in her soft robe. It had been an early birthday gift from Margarey. The fabric was soft and silky to the touch, a pale lavender and embroidered with silver thread that created a scene of little birds carrying flowers into the air.

It had been a long time since the two had seen on another, but they had kept a very diligent regiment of letters and gifts. 

Sansa sat at her vanity,picking up her brush and running it through her long hair. She brushed for a long time, her mind wandering and the brushing just muscle memory. She thought about the day that lay ahead of her and what would happen to her once it was all over.

She looked at herself in the mirror, cupping her cheeks in her hands and pinching them to make them glow. She pursed her lips and played with her hair. She couldn’t figure out what her stomach felt so fluttery.

She put her hair in one long fish-tail braid and she added small pear pins along it, making her hair look as if it were kissed with dew. She sighed, pacing around her room and singing to herself. The dress she was to wear today was hung in a protective bag just beside her tall mirror. She hadn’t looked at it much, for some reason it was what made her most nervous of all. It wasn’t something she would normally wear.

She thought about how empty Winterfell seemed today. Jon was gone to the wall. Robb was off at King’s Landing as king, married to Myrcella Baratheon his queen. It had been quite a shock when the betrothal had been arranged. Then again, Robert’s son had died in a hunting accident and Cersei Lannister had died giving birth to the third, an heir was needed. The two were happy, it seemed at least and they were expecting their first child in the spring. They hoped for a son.

Arya with him as well despite how much everyone argued with her. But it was no use, Arya was willful and had made up her mind years ago about the way she would move in life. Bran was often gone, drawn to the woods and to the voices that called to him in his sleep. Rickon was often around, but he prefered to be with Shaggydog more than human company.

“At least I have you Lady.” Samsa cooed as she laid at the foot of her bed and nuzzled her direwolf’s neck. Lady groaned, rolling onto her back and kicking Sansa away lazily with her hind legs.

“Oh poo,” Sansa huffed at her. “I’ll remember this when you are wanting scraps, young lady!”

Lady just huffed and continued to sleep where Sansa couldn’t.

“Maybe I should write some letters.” Sansa thought to herself. “I am up way to early to do anything else.” She sighed. She crossed her arms tight against her chest. Her breasts were tender, good indication her moonblood would be starting soon.

She grumbled and paced, grumbled and paced. She thought for a moment how good a hot cup of tea would be. She looked to the door, chewing on her bottom lip. Maybe she could go to the kitchen and come back in time for no one to see her. She went back and forth with this idea before she huffed.

“I am the princess of Winterfell,” she said to herself. “To the seven hells with them.” She opened her door, the hall cool and dim.

She stalked as quietly as a cat, her feet rarely touching the stones as she made her way to the kitchen. It was warm in there and she was happy to sit by the fire. She sighed,comforted by the heat for a moment. She was greeted warmly by one of the kitchen hands, it wasn’t rare to find Sansa there these days, and she told Sansa tea would be ready for her in a moment.

“Thank you.” She smiled and she looked back to the fire.

“You seem uneasy today.” The kitchen hand replied. 

Sansa chuckled. “Oh, just a nervous stomach is all. It kept me up last night.”

She nodded. “I know just the thing then, my lady.” She winked as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

 

The door opened and Sansa looked up, the huge cloaked figure stepping in from the snow and howling winds. He shut the door despite the protests of the wind and he removed his hood. The gnarled side of his face illuminated by the flames.

Sansa averted her gaze and she instead looked at her hands. The kitchen hand came out a moment later and served her tea, a soothing blend for her upset stomach and several lemon wedges. “I know how you love lemons, my lady.” She giggled sweetly as she served her. Her eyes then glanced up and saw him. “Oh! Lord Clegane, back early?” She stood. “Let me fetch you and cup and you may-”

“No.” Sandor huffed, dusting himself off. “I don’t need anything.”

The kitchen hand looked from him to Sansa. “Yes, my lord.” She bowed and swiftly departed.

Sansa still refused to look at him, her fingers tightening on her cup, her lips bitter with lemon juice.

Years ago, during a tourney in honor of Robb and Myrcella’s wedding, Robert held a tourney. It was a grand display of all of Westeros’ best fighters. Sandor had gone and competed, winning all the fights he competed in. And then he came up against his ghastly brother, Gregor Clegane. It had been years since the two had met, not since Sandor had arrived in Winterfell when he was young. The fight was brutal, to say the least. Both brothers were strong and vicious, giants among men. It lasted for what seemed like forever. What Sansa remembered most was the feeling of her father’s tunic against her face as she hid her eyes, her hands firmly clamped around her ears. She was so frightened. But suddenly everything had gone quiet and still, a hushed awe surrounding and choking everyone who watched. Sansa had been young, and was near too afraid to look. What if she had lost her beloved Hound?

“Sansa,” Ned had spoken gently as he nudged her shoulder.

She lifted her head and stared out into the crowd and down into the ring. There stood a man and at his feet his dead brother. It was a bloody and brutal sight, one that gave Sansa nightmares still. But Sandor turned, his gray eyes falling upon her for the briefest of moments before the crowd shot up to their feet and cheered. It was on that day Sandor had won the tourney, he had won back his home of Clegane Keep. He had become a rich and powerful man that day. 

The hound who slayed the mountain.

She had never gotten to tell him goodbye. The whole thing happening so fast and suddenly, one moment he was nothing and the next a nobleman, a lord! It had been something so strange for the growing Sansa. It had broken her heart coming home without him at her side.

Since that day he came and went as he pleased, going between Winterfell and his home in Clegane’s Keep. She had gone from child to woman without seeing him. He had returned one night a month ago and had not said a word why. 

He took his cloak off and hung it by the fire. He stood by the hearth warming his hand. He cracked them audibly, the cold weather making them stiff.

Sansa set her empty cup aside and stood. “Good morning,” He murmured politely.

His eyes glanced over her,taking in the full picture of her tall frame draped in the sensual robe. “Aren’t you up rather early?”

“Late,” she corrected. “I never slept at all. So, technically, I’ve stayed up quite late.”

“Smart tongue,” he smirked, licking the twitching side of his mouth.

Sansa glanced to the kitchen door and then back at him. “It isn’t hard to be smart around a dog.”

He laughed quietly, darkly. “You used to be nice to me.”

“You left me alone for so long I forgot how.” She tilted her chin up to him. “If you must blame someone, blame yourself.” She tossed her braid over her shoulder.

His eyes were gliding over her quite noticeably now. She had grown tall and slender, her hands long and elegant, legs shapely, hips curving from her thin waist in a seductive curve.

Sansa’s eyes flicked back to the kitchen door. “I have to go now.” She said.

“Happy nameday, little bird.” Sandor chuckled behind her as she put her hands on the door.

Sansa stopped and looked back over her shoulder at him. “Thank you, Ser Clegane.” She murmured before she pushed the door open and left.

She walked swiftly down the halls, nearly sprinting all the way back to her room. She closed the doors behind her panted softly, holding her hand against her chest. Her heart hammered wildly against her breast.

Sansa walked into her room, going to the gown hidden away in the bag and she opened it up. The dress was cream and gold, the neckline deeply plunged and the sleeves slender and form fitting. She rubbed the fabric between her fingers. It was a daring choice for a nameday gown.But she had wanted something that looked like one of Margarey’s gowns, something that made her look grown up and mature. She was turning eighteen today after all, she wanted to look the part.

 

She pulled the pearl pins from her hair and combed the braid out. She felt frustrated and irritated. She pouted at herself in the mirror. Behind herself in the mirror she saw her door open and close, a cold breeze tickling the nape of her neck. She took the brush to her hair again, combing through the loose waves and curls the braid had created the short time she had it up.

His hand slipped around her throat and tilted it so her neck was exposed. Her flesh white as porcelain and as smooth as silk.

She set her comb aside and looked up at him as he knelt and kissed her neck and throat. 

“Did anyone see you?” She mewled softly. Reaching around she cupped the back of his head and tangled her fingers in his long, pitch hair. It felt clean and soft, like he had freshly washed recently. Just a few days ago it was greasy.

“No,” he growled as he feasted on her throat.

Sansa’s lips parted and she moaned softly. “Anh-mm...I’m still mad at you.”

“You would of prefered the storm killed me?” He lifted his head and released her. He took her chair and spun it around so it faced him. “While you were all soft and warm I was freezing my cock off.”

Sansa bit her lip, looking up into her dark eyes. “Then you should of stopped jerking off.”

He smirked viciously at her. “I was being honest when I said you had become cruel to me.”

She reached up, waving her fingers in and beckoning him to kneel. She grasped his shoulders as he did, pressing a firm kiss to his jaw and then upon his lips.

 

Since he had returned they had started this secret affair of theirs. It had started when she came to him, attempting to start up the friendship they had shared when she was a small girl. She asked him if he remembered when she had fallen in the yard and he stole a lemon cake for her. 

He pretended not to. 

She asked him if he remembered fetching her book from the rain the day she had nearly broken her leg.

He still said no.

It was enough to break her heart and she left before he did. She had loved him so as a child, looked up to him and admired him for his strength and ferocity. He protected her and warmed her tiny heart when it felt like nothing could. For the longest time, he was he happy thought. And when he had left her it had taken a lot for her to recover.

When he had returned from his Keep she had been over joyed and ready to hold him again and tell him of everything that had happened while he was away. What it was like to grow up and take over some of her father’s duties since her brother’s were away. She wanted to tell him how Bran had taught her to climb and how she enjoyed it. She wanted to show him her embroidery work and how much better she had gotten. She wanted to tell him about Margarey and of the Highgardens. But he had turned his nose up at her like he didn’t know who she was.

“He stares at you like you’re fresh meat.” One of her handmaidens whispered to her one day.

She turned and noticed this too, his eyes lingering upon her. A longing in his eyes she recognized but couldn’t place. Why did he stare at her so and in such a way? She tried to ignore it and brush it aside. But as the days wound on she saw that look again several times. She remembered it, she had seen it on Robb and Jon’s faces when they looked at the beautiful handmaidens.

When she had realized that she went and stared at herself in the mirror. She still only saw herself as that awkward gangly girl. She had believed she had never changed into anything else despite what people said. But when she tried and looked through his eyes she saw something strange. She saw beauty and she saw elegance. She was woman.

It was that day she chose such a daring gown. The deep neckline to make him stare, the slender sleeves to show off her lovely hands. She had hoped on asking for a dance from him the evening of the nameday celebration, but it happened much sooner than she planned.

She asked him to join her for supper and he begrudgingly agreed. She had the kitchen prepare his favorite foods, at least the ones she remembered from when she was young. She poured him dark, sweet wine and waited for him, intent on rekindling their friendship. 

The dinner started awkward and quiet, he refused to meet her eyes and he only answered her n grunts and single syllables. 

“Please speak to me,” she commanded gently. She reached out and touched his hand. “I have missed you so much since I saw you last. Why won’t you speak to me?”

He met her gaze for the first time in years. It was a hard stare, his eyes firece and on edge. “You were once my little bird. This tiny, helpless thing that I could carry in my arms.” He frowned and shook his head. “And when I return...I cannot take my eyes off you. You and your damnable beauty. You are my little bird...and yet you are this woman.”

Sansa bit her lip, standing and going to his side. She touched his burnt cheek, running her fingers through his greasy hair. He avoided her eyes again, his heart hammering in his throat as she touched him.

“Thank you,” she murmured. She then kissed his cheek, but she found herself unable to stop. She kissed his jaw and then his neck.

He jerked away, grabbing her wrist and holding her off. It was but for a brief moment they stared at each other in fear and awe before she fell into his arms and he pulled her close. They kissed long and passionately, barely breathing as they devoured each other.

After that they met secretly, pawing at each other hungrily and lovingly. They had agreed though that it would not proceed any further until her nameday, after that Sansa would decide what she wanted of him.

Sansa stood and pressed against him, her fingers slipping under his tunic and up his furry chest. She giggled, feeling him shiver at her touch. “My lord is so cold.”

Sandor moaned, his hand cupping her cheek. “Do we have enough time?”

Sansa shoved him away from her. She undid her robe, letting it drop to the ground. “We have enough.” She said. “Sit down.” She smirked, playing with her hair as she watched him.

He did as she commanded, sitting on the edge of the bed. She then knelt down before him and began unlacing his boots. He watched her curiously as she made quick of his laces and tugged each boot off. She set them by the door and then she returned to him, curling up into his lap.

“What was that?” He asked.

She laid her head against his chest with a soft smile on her lips. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do.” She then kissed his neck, sucking on the taut muscle and leaving a lovebruise there. “Did you bathe?” She giggled as she pushed him onto his back.

“I wanted to look nice today.” He chuckled. 

“You certainly taste better.” She nipped at his jaw, her hand tugging up his tunic.

He put his hand on her hip. “You seem awfully vicious today.”

Sansa shrugged. “I missed you last night.” She stared at his bare chest, rubbing his hands up his hard stomach. “I’m not vicious, just a little hungry.” She knelt down, kissing his stomach and up his chest.

There was a rapping at her door. “Sansa are you in there?”

Sansa sat up like a shot. “My mother!” She whispered.

Sandor braced himself up. “I thought you said-”

“Shut up and hide!” Sansa gasped, shoving him away. “Yes Mother!” She called, grabbing up her robe. “Just a moment!” She shoved and pushed on Sandor, forcing him into her closet and shutting the doors just as Catelyn opened the door.

Sansa turned and smiled, cheeks flushes and temple dotted with sweat. “M-Mother, what are you doing here?” She asked as she walked towards her.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy nameday, is that so wrong?” Catelyn went to her daughter and wrapped her arms around her. 

As she hugged her mother she saw Sandor’s boots still by the door. She bit her lip as her eyes grew huge. “Thank you,Mother.” She chuckled.

“I heard yo pacing this morning.” Catelyn said as she sat on the bed. “Is everything alright?”

Sansa stood in front of her mother, blocking her view of the boots. “No. I’m just excited for the day is all.”

Catelyn’s eyes inspected Sansa, looking over her carefully. “Are you sure?” She asked. “You aren’t hiding anything are you?”

Samsa shook her head, her eyes darting from Catelyn to the closet. “I’m just...well to be honest, Mother,” she sighed, running her hand up her cheek. “I was planning on asking something rather big of your and Father today?”

Catelyn’s brow crooked up, a little suspicious and entertained. “Oh?”

“I’m nervous about asking it, and I’ve been fretting my wording and my arguments.” She met her mother’s eyes. “But aside from that, I’m perfectly happy.”

Catelyn stood up and Sansa held her hand, turning her mother to face the door. “If you’re sure.” Catelyn kissed her cheek. “I don’t know what it is you could possibly ask for that could make you so nervous.” She tucked a loose curl behind Sansa’s ear. “Or…” she smirked, “maybe I do.” She patted Sansa’s cheek.

“Mother?” Sansa asked nervously.

Catelyn smiled wisely. “I’ll have them send breakfast up to you.” She said as she turned to leave, Sansa quickly moved to the door before her and opened it, blocking the boots. “Try and relax. You have a big day ahead of you. Your father has arranged a tourney and Margarey has arranged a gift with me I have to tend to.”

“Oh?” Sansa gasped. “Oh wow, thats wonderful.” 

Catelyn’s eyes flicked back into the room and then back at Sansa. “I’ll come and help you dress later.”

Sansa closed the door as he mother left and she caught her breath. “Oh that was close!”

Sandor stepped out of the closet. “I think she knows I was here.” He grumbled, his cheeks flushed and dark.

Sansa locked her door back. “I’m so sorry about that.” She went to him, putting her arms around his waist and looking up at him. “I suppose you have to go now.” She mewled. “Are you fighting in the tourney.”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.” He kissed her forehead. “What was all that you were telling your mother?” He asked. 

“What?” Sansa shrugged.

He frowned down at her. “You asking your parents something.”

Sansa blushed, averting her eyes. “Oh well...I am eighteen now. I should be thinking about marriage and producing heirs for Winterfell.”

Sandor licked his lips. “Who's the lucky bridegroom?” 

She squeezed her arms tighter around him. “I thought it was what you wanted!” She snapped. “Or have you been lying to me all this time?”

He cupped her cheek. “I’ve been hiding my marriage to a beautiful Southern maiden. She’s short and plump and cooks for me all day.” He smirked teasingly.

Sansa pouted and she pushed him away. “Don’t tease me!”

He chuckled, wiping his thumb across the bottom of his lip. “Do you think you’re father will let you marry an old man like me?”

Sansa frowned at him, crossing her arms tight across her chest. “Stop it. I’m serious and you’re treating me like a child.” She turned her back to him.

Sandor came up behind her, putting one hand on her waist and the other slid down her chest, his fingers pulling open her robe and then disappearing under the lace of her nightgown. “I told you before that I see you as a woman.”

The rough pads of his fingers rubbed against her breasts, gently rubbing and circling her nipple. Sansa yelped softly, whimpering at his touches. He had kept most of his touches above her clothes, this was the first time he had touched her bare breasts. 

“Don’t regret me once you have me, little bird.” He rasped into her ear.

Sansa bit on her finger, his touches felt wonderful, jolts of pleasure going from her nipples and between her legs. “Please…” She gasped. “Y-you need to stop.”

“Oh what?” He chuckled against her neck.

There was another knock on her door and he released her. He hid behind the door as Sansa brought in the tray with her breakfast on it. There was more than she could eat on the tray, enough for him to stay. Her cheeks were still flushes, and her nipples were visible under her clothes, hard and full.

“Come eat with me.” She asked him, patting the chair at the table.

He sat down and she crawled back into his lap, cuddling close to him. She kissed her softly, nipping his lip.

“I’m not for eating.” Sandor chuckled, enjoying her affection.

“Not yet,” Sansa pant. She pressed a berry to his lips, feeding him. She smiled, snuggling against him and pouring her tea. 

They ate, sometimes feeding each other and sharing the same cup. Sansa could feel him against her ass, hard and thick. She’d never seen a man naked before. Well, she had seen Bran and Rickon as babies but that wasn’t the same. She reached beneath her, rubbing her hand along the hard ridge in his pants.

“Don’t, little bird.” He grabbed her wrist and pulled it away. “Ignore that.”

“Its hard not too,” she smirked. “You keep poking me.”

He kissed her neck. “Excuse my rudeness, but he and I do not share the same mind.”

Sansa giggled, feeling like seeing how far she could test him. She pulled open her robe and unlaced the top of her nightgown. She opened up and exposed her bare breasts to him. She laid against his chest, rubbing her full breasts against him.

“You’re crueler than I thought.” Sandor snarled.

Sansa smirked. “What?” She asked. “I thought you liked my chest.” She satup, lifting her arms and pushing her hair away. “Do you like it better bare or clothed?” She then let her hair fall back over them. “Or do you like this?”

Sandor leaned back in the chair, swallowing hard. He watched her as she teased him. Her breasts were soft and full, thick pink nipples that were dark against her pale skin. There was a dark freckle next to the nipple on her right breast, like a cute beauty mark.

Sandor pushed her hair away, cupping the breast in his hand. “I would enjoy you wrapped in seaweed.” He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her breast.

“Anh,” Sansa jerked, pressing her nipple deeper into his suckling mouth. It was hot and wet, and it felt so good. She had gone too far, she didn’t intend it to feel this good. “Sandor,” she mewled, tangling her fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry,” he pant. “Oh...oh no, we need to stop.”

Her nipples left his mouth with a pop. He kissed her chest and up her neck. “This isn’t a game of chicken,” he teased. “How dare you start a game that you can’t finish.”

Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. “It felt so good.” She pant,taking deep breaths to try and calm down.

Sandor licked his lips. “Perhaps I should go then.”

Sansa struggled with what to say next, to agree to let him leave or to make him stay and continue their pleasure. “I…” She whimpered. She kissed him again, rubbing back against his chest. “One last bad decision?” She asked.

Sandor snickered, smirking as he nodded. “What is it?”

“You take off your shirt.” She murmured innocently. “T-take it off.”

Sandor undid the strands at the neck and wriggled out of it. His chest was covered with thick, dark hair. She pressed her bare chest to his, rubbing up and down to feel as much of his skin as he could. “I’ll stop.” She pant. “I promise I’ll stop.” She pressed her finger to his nipple, rubbing and pinching it like he had done to her. It stiffened, much to her delight. She kissed down his neck and leaving a trail of love bruises. She then suckled his nipple, nipping it before raising her head. 

“Ok,” she stood up and covered herself. “W-we should stop now before-” he dazed mind faded out. She couldn't think of one good reason to stop.

Sandor stood as well, tugging his tunic back on. “You’re right.” He grumbled. “I should go. I have a lot to do today.”

Sansa looked up at him, pinching her knees together in hopes of relieving some of the pressure. It was going to be a long day and she was unsure when she could next see him and be alone with him. “Me too.” She murmured, kissing him before he left.


End file.
